


Honey

by drelfina



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magical Realism, Dubious Consent, Dubious Morality, M/M, Non Consensual, Rape/Non-con Elements, Soul Bond, sucks to be Q
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-11
Updated: 2013-04-11
Packaged: 2017-12-08 04:10:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/756887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drelfina/pseuds/drelfina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bond-birds come to you when you are a child. Every child by twelve has a bond-bird on their arms.  There are so many written papers on why, no one really knows how the bird knows to choose. </p><p>But that's not the really interesting part. What is, is that bond-birds nest only with your soul mate. </p><p>It sounds idyllic. It sounds beautiful.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Honey

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the prompt [here](http://consultingwriters.tumblr.com/post/47550494849/magical-realism-au-00q-prompt-everyone-in-the), I took it in an entirely different direction from Consultingwriters did. 
> 
> And ended up challenging [rikacain](rikacain) to a similar storyline, so we'll see if how differently hers turns out lol. And hers is [ here ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/757259/chapters/1415788)

Question hooted sleepily at him, not wanting to budge. 

Honestly, Q didn't want to wake up either, but it was nearly two p.m., and he should get some basic grocery shopping done before the shops started to close. 

It was winter - shops closed earlier with the fading light, and Q had wasted most of the day sleeping off a three-day frenzy at Q-branch, where a mission had only just managed not to go to hell by the skin of everyone's teeth. Damn 007, every mission seemed to result in international incidents, and things going tits up. 

So he had felt he deserved a full day off, and left HQ at three in the morning and slept till now. 

But now he really needed to get groceries - he was low on food, both human and owl, and needed more vacuum bags. Question was a clean bird, but he was still an owl, and owls were messy creatures, leaving their feathers and dander everywhere. At least Question, out of consideration for Q, disemboweled his food in a big tray to make for easier clean up. 

He rolled out of bed , and combed feathers out of his hair with his fingers, and got dressed in layers. Undershirt, sweater, a cardigan, before finally fastening the usual perching pad on his right shoulder. 

He picked up his keys. Question hooted irritably, but winged off his perch to land on the shoulder pad, leaning his head against Q's ear. 

"I'm sorry, but just a quick grocery run," Q said, "We're out of crickets." 

London wasn't very cold, in general, but it was still colder than the usual migratory zones for elf owls. Fortunately, Question was tiny enough to hide against Q's hair, and hence not require the warm coverings that other migratory bond-birds would need. Plus Q was not going to be out in the cold for long - otherwise Question would be tucked into the woolen sling that in turn would be tucked under his cardigan. 

In any case, the nearest Tesco would have tea, bread, and then the shop for bond-raptors was just around the corner. The Tesco would be open till eleven, of course, which wasn't an issue, but the bond-raptor shop would not be, so he had to go there first. 

He got a box of chirping crickets for Question, wrapped securely in newspaper for insulation and tucked under his arm, Question hooting quietly against his hair, before he headed into the much warmer Tesco. 

Q was checking the price tags for the different breads, when Question, who had become drowsy in the steamy warmth of the supermarket, suddenly perked up, hooting. 

"Question?" Q straightened up. "What's wrong?" 

Suddenly Question beat his wings, fluttering up, thin legs scrabbling at plastic bags of bread, his talons clickign against the metal shelves, and then he was up, above and over onto the next aisle. 

"Question!" 

Q stared at where his bond-bird had disappeared to, and then cursed, dropping his bread and the crickets into his basket. 

Question rarely left his shoulder during winter when they were out and about in general London. This was significant. This had to mean that hed found his soul-mate. 

Q hadn't thought about it, really, there were plenty of people who never found soul-mates, their birds content to nest separately and tolerate each other. Soul-mates were really just the stuff of romance novels and romantic comedies . Q hadn't thought that this would happen, really - 

He skidded around the other end of the aisle, and almost banged into other shoppers. "Sorry, sorry excuse me, Question!" 

He ignored the murmurings of the other shoppers, and there- 

Question was nuzzling up to a large eagle, the rusty plumage of the huge raptor dwarfing and covering the tiny owl; Question looked like a chick next to it. 

"Question?" Q said, reaching out to the birds. The eagle snapped a ferocious gaze at Q, its silvery-grey eyes sharp and vicious. 

"Is that your bird?" purred a voice, and a heavy arm draped around his shoulders. Q blinked, feeling like this was oddly familiar.

"Yes, it's Question-" 

There was a warm, feeling in his belly; distantly, Q recognised it as the recognition of a soul-bond. There was enough literature out there describing it. a deep sense of contentment, warmth and something like arousal. 

"Question. Such a big name, for a little bird," the voice chuckled, against Q's ear. "That, that is Cielito, my darling. A Ferruginous hawk." 

"Really," Q said, shoving the warmth, the urge to relax into the man's arm. He hadn't thought he was gay but soul-bonds didn't give a shit about that. 

He turned around. "I'm Q-" he started to say, and stopped. 

"Yes," Silva purred. "Yes, i know." 

It felt like a frozen shower slammed down on him. Over the warmth and arousal, there was the knowledge that his soul mate was a killer, a criminal, an international mastermind who had killed several agents in his vendatta against the old M. Had tried to kill Bond. 

Had blown up MI6 to prove a _point_

"You're dead," Q said, frozen in place. 

"What was it, Bond said," Silva said cocking his head, fingers stroking over Q's cheek. "Ah yes. Resurrection. It is more than one man's hobby, no?" 

He took a step closer, and Q jolted back, hand crashing into the jam jars on the shelf, and several of them fell off and smashed on the linoleum.

"My sweet boy," Silva purred , his dark gaze as intent as his bird's, his features - oh god, hooked and sharp and predatory. "why are you fleeing, you are mine." 

"No," Q said, eyes wide. The arousal in his belly warred with the icy realisation that his soul-mate, the one who was supposed to make him happy for the rest of his life, was a crazy, sociopath bent on world domination. 

Who should be _dead_. 

"No I'm not. I _refuse_ ," he spat, and slapped the man's hand away from him as Silva reached for him. "You aren't my soul-mate, you can't be -" 

Silva's gaze darkened, and then in two steps, the crunching of glass barely registering, he had Q pinned up against the shelves, knocking over a jar of honey. the seal broke, and its nozzle leaked honey onto Q's shoulder pad. 

"You don't want to anger me, my boy," Silva said, harsh, vicious, and up close, his eyes were dark, so dark, and wide and _crazed_. "How... beautiful. You're such a clever boy." His hand was up against Q's cheek again, his touch warm, searing against Q's skin, his jaw, now his temple, fingers pressing against the outline of Q's face. "you can't reject me," he breathed, and he smelled of, of all things, coffee. Warm and tantalizingly homey and the contrast of it all, fear and terror and need and want churning up into self-loathing and he felt ill. 

"I can," Q said, squeezing his eyes shut, and turning away even as the man's hand slid into his hair, pulling him back to face him. Bit his lip hard sohe didn't have to feel the kiss, even as his body jerked and yearned towards Silva. "I can. I can reject you. You're not. I don't - I don't want you-" 

"But I do," Silva breathed, against his mouth, his ear. "You're mine, my sweet, clever Quartermaster." 

A finger was dragging up the honey from his shoulder, and pressing it against his lips. "Sweet. As honey. Cariño."

Even though he refused to open his mouth, Silva's mouth pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth, his eyes. "And I'll have you." 

Question hooted, above them, in contentment, in _bliss_ , and Q shuddered, unable to get away. 

Honey kept dripping, sticky, sweet, and unwanted, soaking through the leather, and sticking to his skin. 

He couldn't wash it off. Couldn't get away.

 

* * *

  
  
_Bond-birds come to you when you are a child. Every child by twelve has a bond-bird on their arms. There are so many written papers on why, no one really knows how the bird knows to choose._

_But that's not the really interesting part. What is, is that bond-birds nest only with your soul mate._

_It sounds idyllic. It sounds beautiful._

_But what if you hated your soul-mate?_

_What if you never wanted a soul-mate?_

_What if your soul-mate didn't care?_

 

* * *


End file.
